


shinedown

by addictedtoacertainlifestyle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (hint: it's kylo), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedtoacertainlifestyle/pseuds/addictedtoacertainlifestyle
Summary: You've always found solace in loneliness, in solitude away from other people and their infectious feelings. With Seasons as your only company in the deepest hinterlands, you've been content.But when Spring arrives once again, nothing will ever be the same.





	1. changes

  Spring is a little late this year.

  Winter, that tall, red-haired man – who, to his misfortune, you think, looks a lot like a weasel or a mink, with a sly face and streamlined movements – is still around. He even keeps showing up to your house around teatime, sits in your table and of course, you just _can’t_ not offer Winter some tea. You’re the only person in these woods by thousands of miles. He must get lonely, but you know he would never admit it. Least of all to you.

  You make sure to lace the tea with a pinch of disdain, though, just to remind him that you’d rather not have him here, not when Spring could be here instead. He definitely can taste the murky flavour, if his scrunched-up face after he’s finished is anything to go by. Or he just always looks like that, no matter what.

  Each morning you keep giving insistent glances to your little calendar hanging in your kitchen, as if staring it would make the process faster, make the days fly by. But you never know – the abilities of your mind keep surprising you. Maybe this time, Spring will come if you call for it.

  Spring is a nice, older man with rugged looks, a crooked smile, and a funny, furry friend towering alongside him. Always together, never apart – a friendship that’s clearly just as deep and strong as you’d expect any gods to have. You don’t know either of their names, never have. They’ve just always been Spring and his Friend, keeping you company in these woods until Summer arrives, her purple hair and flowing cape always as dramatic as it is beautiful.

  With a lonely life like this, in the middle of the woods in your own little cottage, Seasons are all you have, really. But you’ve never minded much. Indeed, you ran away from the bustle of everyone else to be on your own; if you wanted people around, you wouldn’t be here. Seasons you like, though, for they’re only up for a talk when you want to, and the rest of the time they’ll keep quiet, even if they’re near you.

  It’s always been the silence you’ve yearned after, not the lack of people, not really. It’s just something you’ve noticed: the less people talk, the less you have to feel things that aren’t yours. Constantly gathering passing snippets of emotions – easily ranging from heart-breaking grief to overwhelming joy in the span of just a few hours – becomes draining. It makes you hollow.

  Here, you feel at peace. Or as much as you can ever feel.

  Here, in the small, time-worn cabin where the time seems to stop, only the passing of Seasons reminding you that the world turns, still. It’s lonely, it’s _intense_ , to be on your own. But it’s also better than any of the alternatives.

\--

  In the end, it’s two weeks into March before Winter finally leaves.

  You get up around six, well before than what you usually would, just because that one particular restless feeling in your stomach wakes you up. You’ve always been the one to feel the change differently, deeper and sooner than anyone else. Like birds yearning for migration just because their instincts tell them to, you feel these things in your marrow, for reasons you’ve never figured out. An itch within you that is too strong to be satisfied, too strong to be ignored.

  Standing by the open front door, you lean against the door frame and manage to catch a glimpse of Winter leaving, his dark cape silently gliding behind him as he disappears between the thick canopy of trees the same way he always arrives, quietly without much warning. The Sun hasn’t risen yet behind the mountains yet, but he takes off anyways – you know he doesn’t want to be here when Spring arrives.

  When there’s only the still-cold wind as you company, you sit down to the porch and wait.

  And wait.

  Half an hour passes. Then the Sun rises and Spring isn’t there yet.

  First, you don’t see any point to worry. During the years you’ve known him, Spring has never been that punctual. Sometimes it takes a good while before he arrives, afterwards always making sure to tell you elaborate stories about the things he came across on his way here. You’ve never minded of him being late, only taken it as an opportunity to hear something interesting, probably funny, definitely wild. Stories of exploits, creatures and places you always thought always just existed in your dreams, in the feral subconscious mind.

  However, when the restless feeling doesn’t leave you, you realise that this isn’t normal. The change is prolonging itself in a way you haven’t felt before. The sunlight feels wrong, shining for no reason, for no Season at all. The woods around you shudder as if afraid, the ground beneath you silently thundering. Your breathing becomes faster, the nature’s panic raising your own emotions, heightening the pounding of your heart.

  You get up and rush inside, locking the door after you, leaning against it and breathing deeply: five in, seven out. Your fingertips are numb, your vision dizzy. Slowly, you slide down until your body meets the floor and close your eyes in the hopes of centering yourself.

  You’re not sure how long you sit there, how long the earth below you quakes. For some time, all you can feel is the worry of the nature around you, the tremble of each leaf, the scuttering of every creature.

  But like all things, that moment too, passes. At some point, the wind eases, and the mute screams around you are reduced to small whimpers. The ground falls asleep again; plants finding solace from the Sun once more. You breathe a sigh of relief and set a hand above your heart in a silent _Thank you_.

  Spring has returned to the forest.

\--

  Morning finally arrives again, and this time you sleep soundly without fear. With Spring back in the forest, the nature feels at ease once more, and so nothing disturbs you from your slumber until the first birds start to chirp. After waking up, for a moment you simply lie there, watch as the first rays of Sun peek through your curtains, observing the tiny specks of dust that float in the air.

  You didn’t get to see Spring yesterday. When you finally recovered from the strange occurrence, you decided to go for a walk in the woods in order to find him. After an hour or so of following the river that passes by your home, no-one came across you, not Spring or his Friend. The whole forest was silent, but not afraid. You knew Spring returned and brought peace to the nature, but he was nowhere to be found.

  With an undeniable sense of concern, you throw the covers off you and go open your curtains, letting the light properly in. Nothing in the nature around you seems different at first, until…

  Right under your window, there is a man digging around in your flowerbed. Wide shoulders, heavy build and tall, even when he's kneeling before the soil that hardly even shows from the grimy ground, under the snow that’s yet to melt away. Dark hair, messed up from the wind, reaches down to his shoulders that are covered by a massive, intimidating cape; very similar to the one Winter always wears, black and sleek.

 _Spring_ , you realise, _he has to be Spring._ Not exactly the brightest, cheeriest one; he looks much more suited for the job of Winter, or even Autumn.

  Immediately, you slam open your window and peek outside, hands gripping the windowsill.

  If he hears you, he doesn’t respond to it yet, completely focused to his task.

  “What are you doing?” you ask before you get to think about anything else.

  The man doesn’t look up, still digging one small dent in the soil after another. Then, as he seems to be pleased with his handiwork, he balls his right fist gently and once he opens it, seeds of different kinds have appeared in his palm. He takes few at a time and lets them fall to the dents. This confirms your thoughts: no man is able to command the nature at his will.

  He _is_ Spring. The new Spring.

  “What do you think?”

  “Planting my garden, obviously, I’m not blind! But I thought… Previous Spring–“

  “He never cared much for the necessities, I know,” he snaps, interrupting you without much sympathy in his voice. “He always did what he wanted to, not what he was _supposed_ to do. Never did any good for him.”

 _As if you knew him_ , you almost retort, chest stinging at his blatant words, but then you can sense that he’s… sad? Faintly, like a memory of something long gone; sorrow weeps somewhere within him. So very quiet, almost unnoticeable, but you’ve always been able to hear even the most invisible of screams. He too, mourns for the previous Spring. Why, you don’t know.

  What you _do_ know, though, what you can _feel_ , is that behind his sharp, harsh edges is a soft heart in hiding – or as much of a heart that a god can have – that feels pain for his lost precursor.

  Spring hasn’t looked up yet, not even once, but you don’t need to see his expression to know any of this. Because things like these, feelings of such high magnitude, they reach beyond the conscious mind. They bleed through even the strongest of facades, the coldest of stares.

  You stay put for a moment, watch as he puts the seeds into the dents and then covers them with the soil. It’s repetitive, grounding work that seems to agitate him, if the feeling you can sense is anything to go by. You’ve always liked doing it, though, which is why you never got angry when the previous Spring didn’t do it. It is an entirely different feeling, to make something with your hands, build something real out of nothing; bring more life into being. Planting your garden has never been trouble for you.

  Sometimes, the previous Spring used to joke that after he’s gone, you could take his place. With your calm mind, careful manners and overflowing empathy you would’ve made for a fine Spring, he always said. But alas, being a god, especially a Season, doesn’t happen that easily, and definitely not just for anyone, no matter how much another god likes you. After all, you’re just a mortal with a little knack for feelings. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  When Spring is finally finished, he stands up and looks at you for a moment, observing you properly. Now, you can see his features better; sharp jaw, structured brow, and aquiline nose. Dark eyes, to match his hair and attire, but you can’t see the exact colour. Over his right brow and eye, down his face and then disappearing under his collar travels a scar, healed long time ago but still noticeable.

  There’s something regal in his looks, speaking of a much higher being than just a Season.

  “Thank you,” you end up saying, after a heartbeat of silence. You’re not sure what made you say that – it’s just his job, after all. However, when faced with a god you haven’t met before, you feel a need to show your respect towards him, if nothing else – even though he hadn’t exactly been kind towards you.

  It seems that he wasn’t expecting your words, as his expression softens, just a little. In bewilderment, mostly, but there’s a whisper of something else, too.

  “You’re welcome,” is all he says, all cruelty gone from his voice, replaced with slight hesitance. Then he’s already turning on his heels and heading towards the mountains, without giving you a chance to stop him.

  You don’t dare to move until he’s gone from your sight, then spare a look at the flowerbed, before sighing and closing the window.

 _At least that’s one job less to do_ , you think.

\--

  The next encounter between you and Spring is a gentler one.

  Just a day after you found him planting the seeds in your garden, he comes to knock on your door around midday, after lunch. You’re not surprised to see him – after all, Seasons frequently visit your home, doing their jobs or looking for company. He might’ve come across as stern and not exactly the most social one, but you knew that he wouldn’t be an exception. In these woods, every living being gravitates towards you, whether they want it or not.

  However, he does manage to surprise you nevertheless; today he’s softer, his mood clearly lighter, even though not exactly better at first glance. He bids you a good afternoon with a voice that’s laced with politeness. He even gives you a small smile, strained but a smile all the same. You return it in kind, and invite him inside.

  “Are you here for work?” you manage to ask as he brushes past you and walks towards your bedroom, as if he’s been in this house before and knows its layout by heart. “Or just…”

  You trail off, as he’s clearly not listening to you. Usually, you’d roll your eyes and say something snarky about heading to a woman’s bedroom straight away when being invited to her home, but you don’t feel like he’d appreciate the joke. He probably wouldn’t hear you anyways.

  You follow him with quick steps, and stop again by the bedroom door – you’ve learned that it’s better to keep your distance at first, when it’s Seasons you’re dealing with and have no idea what they’re up to. Their magic is finicky, not exactly something a mortal could handle.

  With an easy, if not even slightly bored air around him, Spring walks to your windowsill, and then wakes up the plants you’ve set there. The cold, dark winter has made them stale and droopy, leaves on the verge of falling off – no matter how many good thoughts you tried to give them when the Sun hardly rose at all, during the heart of the winter. Now, with the magic of Spring, they regain their lives under his fingertips, slowly stand up to reveal vibrant leaves and little buds of flowers, waiting to bloom into prosperity once the time is right.

  In awe, you walk to the windowsill beside him and gently touch the leaves, mimicking the motions he did to bring them alive. Spring doesn’t move, only follows your movements, and when he exhales after a moment that feels far too long, it is edged with a certain kind of fondness, like an internal chuckle of amusement – a tiny smirk, smiling eyes. Just a fleeting second, gone in an instant.

  But to feel it, even if only for a small moment; it makes you brave.

  “Would you like to stay for some tea?”

  You don’t turn to meet his eyes, not yet. Merely continue your task, follow the pathways that you saw his fingers make, feeling the new life fizzle in your fingertips. It brings a smile to your face.

  “If you’re offering,” he eventually says, voice quiet, unhurrying; like a calm ocean with no ripples, only the silence of the water.

  Outside, the clouds clear out to let the Sun shine through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, well, would you look at that! a new fic appears! 
> 
> this is an idea i've been thinking about for a short while, and now i'm really excited to show this to y'all! i've yet to decide how long this is going to be, but i've got the plot in mind and enough spite - if nothing else - to finish this at some point. updates will be sporadic, though, as my summer is filled with studying and travelling. 
> 
> as always, kudos make me happy, and comments even more so! i'm very interested to hear what you think! (ﾉ^∇^)ﾉﾟ


	2. conversations

  The reality of the situation takes a while to dawn on you.

  You offer Spring tea just like you said you would, a nicer blend of cinnamon for the sake of the occasion – first of many, you’re certain of that. When you sit down across him and sip from your own cup, you watch as he pours some milk to his and then drinks, slowly as if savouring the taste. He doesn’t say anything, seemingly content with the silence and so you don’t dare to speak either.

  For a moment you reminisce previous Spring leaning against the chair, drinking his tea without a care in the world as he laughs at something his Friend says, responds with just as much sass as his companion. Playful banter fills your little house, chuckles echo in the hallway. It is as warm as the first rays of the Sun after a long winter. There is no hurry, nothing to aim towards; just this moment, beautiful in its eternity.

  You blink and return to the reality where new Spring is in his prosecutor’s place, standing upright and unmoving in his chair like a well-mannered schoolboy. His curious eyes are constantly moving, though, trying to take in everything. Looking at him, something indescribable stings in your chest close to your heart, like an internal wound, small but powerful.

  You’re not angry at him, no. Never could be, even if you wanted to. You’re very familiar with irrational anger or jealousy, but this time, for some reason your heart has already decided that he will never receive such foul feelings from you. It’s just…

  The new Spring has some great shoes to fill, and somehow, you know he dreads doing it more than anything else.

  Ten minutes of silence and one cup of tea later, Spring takes his leave.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” he says on your front door. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  When he turns and once again walks into the unknown that is the forest, you realise that you didn’t say it just as a courtesy but you actually meant it, sincerely. No matter what you think now, no matter what you will soon feel.

\--

  The day rolls into the evening, and that’s when grief finally finds you, after hiding the day.

  During the night, the burdens unravel, just as you’d been expecting. But it doesn’t make the pain any less frightening, as all-consuming.

  It properly hits you now; without warning, without any preamble, old Spring is forever gone. This is merely a fact, something that cannot be changed.

  You didn’t even get to say goodbye, not properly, not in the way you would’ve done if you had known that the particular spring was going to be his last. No, you only waved when he departed back behind the mountains with his friend, with the promise of returning next spring. Nothing else.

  He’ll never know how much he meant to you, how he always occupied a piece of your heart like no other Season. He’s gone now, somewhere out of your reach, in a place you’ll never find.

  It’s been a while since something has made you cry properly – the last time was a few months ago when you encountered that bird that never learned to fly. When his family headed South, escaping the cold weather, you found him frozen to death in his nest on the first day of winter. You remember crying then, cradling the bird in your palms and then burying him underneath the tree you found his nest in.

  You cry now, too, first without realising. But when your throat starts to burn with acid and your hands come up to clear out your blurry vision, you’re back in the forest again, burying the bird. Cold hands shake, breath mists in the darkness, there’s just the profound void of loss gnawing its way through you, faster than the pull of a black hole.

  How fragile is life? Gods and birds are the same, in the end; nothing lives forever.

_I’m sure we’ll meet again._

  You and new Spring definitely will. But you and old Spring? It’ll remain a dream, a longing thought.

  Grief is without a doubt the strongest emotion you’ve had to feel; when someone experiences it, it radiates like something toxic, it latches on and clings for a long, long time. It’s necessary, it’s not wrong nor is it ever bad; it’s important to feel, but it _hurts_ like nothing else.

  And nothing can be compared to feeling it first-hand.

\--

  Three days pass without much thought, but it helps, to be alone for a while. With those days, you slowly begin the process of healing. And all the while, spring progresses.

  You haven’t seen Spring, for you’ve hardly even left your house. Feeling so overwhelmed has kept you inside in your little cabin where the world around you becomes quiet – it’s calm, safe in a way no other place is. You’ve watched the world outside from the windows and seen the little buds appear in your flowerbed, with the steady intervals of sun and rain, and it’s been soothing to observe. Growth will always happen, as long as one is patient and understanding.

  On the fourth day you finally decide to take your morning tea outside, to your porch. It’s still cold, March reaching its last moments of glory but refusing to give in just yet. You wrap a knitted blanket around yourself and huddle on the stairs, warm cup in your hands as you shiver and greet the morning, Sun rising behind the mountains and casting peculiar light that paints the top of the trees. You close your eyes and let the light wash over you, a gentle brush from the divine.

  Just like the seasons, just like the fear of change, grief will also loosen you from its grasp, that you already know. Nothing can keep you forever.

  You hear Spring’s footsteps even before you open your eyes; being like this, perturbed and quiet, you become more aware of your surroundings.

  Today, he is quiet as usual, but when you do open your eyes and greet him with a small smile, there is a spark in his eyes that awakens your interest; keen to observe and see what this new side of him has to offer. You just have to start the embers, slowly and with great care.

  “You know, I’ve seen a lot of springs while living here, and this one is very beautiful so far. You’re doing a really great job.”

  “How long have you lived here, then?” he asks, completely ignoring your compliment but you can see him blushing, smiling with his eyes. He is glad someone recognizes his efforts and praises him for them.

  “A long time. Decades, now that I think about it,” you respond, and when he frowns you realise it wasn’t the answer he was expecting to hear.

  “You don’t remember the exact years?”

  “Here… Time is different. I’m sure you know all about that.” Indeed, how many springs have you seen? How many winters have you withstood? How much time has passed without you growing alongside it? You don’t know anymore, for at some point you lost count. But it doesn’t scare you. Everything is different here.

  “I don’t, not yet,” Spring murmurs, almost… bashful?

  Now it’s your turn to be puzzled. “You don’t?”

  “This… It’s my first spring, as you know.” He sits down to the stairs beside you, glances at you before looking up to the mountain peaks. “And I haven’t– I’m sure I’ve been somewhere before, but I don’t remember those places, what they were like. I just remember feelings. And people.”

  Your curiosity wants to encourage him, get him to open up just a little more. While he is still clearly guarded, quite not sure what to say or what to think, this is the first time he’s ever spoken to you this openly, the first time he’s ever been this genuine. It’s like he’s been waiting for the right time, the right person; you can sense he’s been quiet for so long, always in silence with no-one to speak to. He’s not quite yet sure how to do it, but he wants to. Desperately.

  You can’t help yourself, even though it just might be a step too far – either for him or you, you cannot tell.

  “Like previous Spring?”

  “Among others,” he ends up saying, and you remain silent after that, choosing only to nod.

  He’s not yet ready to talk about him, you’d know that even without feeling the slight discomfort as he looks away for a moment. But it’s okay; everyone has their demons, their vulnerabilities. You wouldn’t – couldn’t – talk about him now either. Even if you’d like to. The tears are just too close in the back of your throat, that hollow feeling still there, persistent in its existence.

  Feelings are… complicated, to say the very least. You would love to say you’ve learned the tricks of them, after all these years of observation and feeling and being. But no, they’re greater than the minds that possess them, let it be mortal or something else. Some things will never be understood, and while it terrifies you, there’s also great comfort in it, in the fear it evokes. The fear of the unknown is a universal experience, something anyone can feel.

  You look over at Spring, his mighty body hunched on the stairs rather comically, and can’t help but smile. His hair falls to his face, gracing his cheeks – your eyes follow the dark waves as if they’re something hypnotic, mesmerizing. A strong gust of wind rises, rustles in the trees, shaking the small buds of leaves and it startles you. You shudder violently, shivering.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, noticing your rather apparent reaction.

  “Ah, it’s just the cold that bothers. Nothing of concern.”

  He doesn’t listen, though, and immediately starts the progress of shedding off his cape to lay it over your blanket, another layer of warmth.

  “You really don’t have to,” you try to protest, albeit weakly.

  “I know.” He doesn’t elaborate, or try to justify himself. There’s no need, you know that; anything he chooses to do, he is able to do without much effort or reason. Gods are funny like that: omnipotent, capable of everything.

  Maybe it’s the cape that warms you up, or his gentle thoughts that linger on your shoulders, even when he doesn’t really touch you, just barely brushes you with the tips of his fingers. But you can feel his intention on your shoulders. You don’t shiver anymore, something soft settling on top of your weary, grief-weakened soul.

  “Thank you.” _For the cape; for your kindness. I promise to give mine soon._

  He gets up and heads into the woods for the day, but not before blessing you with a genuine smile of his own.

\--

  It becomes once again a part of your routine, seeing Spring daily.

  You’ve always had rather close relationships with Seasons – Winter excluded, because while he spends time with you, you know he does not seek that closeness that other Seasons do. Summer has always been interesting company, someone easy to talk to, and Autumn never fails to make you feel soothed with her cheerful outlook and dedicated work ethic. You’ve learned that even though they are gods, ethereal in their own right, they’re humane, too. They never discard you, see you as anything less.

  But for some reason, Spring’s attention on you feels the most powerful.

  There’s no schedule to your meetings; sometimes you don’t see him until you’re readying yourself to bed, and he comes to knock on your door. As the hour is late enough, you offer him chamomile tea that is made with a sleepy mind but a considerate heart. He seems to enjoy it – both the tea and conversing with you.

  Most of the time, the talk is rather light-hearted. Spring is learning something new about his job constantly, and he remembers to tell you whatever it is that happened that day. His words aren’t the most eloquent, but he is slowly warming up. You can see it in his eyes, in the way he grows more comfortable.

  Your days are never as interesting as his – truly, nothing really beats waking up the fauna in the forest, warming up the Sun to melt the snow, driving away the frost that still hides in the darkest corners of the woods – but you tell him about them anyways.

  Tonight, you two decide to go outside instead of staying in, sit underneath the darkening sky. Stars begin to slowly show up, endlessly blinking in the darkness, far away at the other end of the universe. Usually the sight would make you feel frighteningly lonely. Silent, unmoving beings of light make you feel so very insignificant, your breath catch and chest clench. It evokes a deep, instinctual feeling within you, hundreds of years old, passed down generations. A profound humility when seeing something so great, so holy.

  With Spring beside you, you find it easier to breathe. Two pairs of eyes looking up into the endless universe doesn’t feel so terrible. You feel calmer, lighter than ever before when looking up to the sky and facing the eternity.

  But Spring makes you pause. He’s been on the edge all night but you haven’t said anything, giving him time to figure it out on his own; he will talk to you when he’s ready, and you think this is the moment. You can feel his unease beside you, when he starts to speak.

  “It’s going to be April soon.” His voice is contemplative, and it’s not quite just a statement. Other meanings hide behind it.

  “It is. Are you looking forward to it?”

“I’m not sure. You said time passes slowly here but… The days have never felt this fast, I think.”

  “Really? Have they been something else before, then?”

  “I do remember feelings of boredom, if that’s an answer good enough for you,” he remarks with a little bark of laughter, not exactly joyous but endearing all the same. It makes your heart soften unexpectedly.

  “Do you miss it? Being somewhere else, I mean.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think I can miss something I don’t remember,” he confesses, and you understand what he means. His voice trembles, like a bird finally fleeing its cage and tasting freedom, but unable to let go of his heavy heart. “I do remember people, and previous Spring, he– He was my father, actually. That I remember.”

  “Oh, Spring, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I know, it’s alright. How could you have known?”

  He is so very sad, misery and grief weighing him down in this moment, like a heavy burden pulling him down beneath the water. It is clear he’s let himself bottle this up, even if you’ve caught some glimpses of it. But you’re willing to keep him afloat, holding his hand to make sure he doesn’t give up. Now, surrendering himself to you, he is finally beginning to feel some kind of relief.

  He is so beautiful, standing out in an invisible, glorious way in the darkness, something otherworldly, but painfully human. You’re not sure if it is his beauty, or the words he’s said, but you feel yourself begin crying again. Small, silent tears that he clearly notices, but to your fortune mentions nothing about.

  “And I can tell he meant a lot to you,” he says, with that same calm voice when he woke up your plants on the windowsill. “I’m glad. That he’s left his mark in this world. Wherever he is now, I’m sure… I’m sure he knows.”

  You swipe your tears away with your fingertips. Taking a deep breath, you smile, remembering the previous Spring and his old ways. It still hurts, to think about him, but doing this for Spring matters more than your pain.

  “He loved you too. He never mentioned you but I– I could always sense a fondness in him, for someone I didn’t know. It must’ve been you he thought about.”

  “Maybe.”

  Silence falls between you two, but you reach out to rest your hand on top of his, your smaller palm hardly covering the back of his hand. You hear him breathe sharply, but he doesn’t move. He radiates warmth, almost tenderly like the April sun.

  “When you say you _sense_ it, what do you mean?” Spring asks, frowning, but his eyes still cast downwards to the meeting of your hands. He is clearly curious, the same way you have been, and because he’s been honest and opened up to you in new ways, you know you cannot leave his question unanswered.

  “I’ve always been able to feel things differently,” you start and take a deep breath. “People’s emotions, mostly. Others have always said I have high empathy, but I don’t… I’m not sure what it is. That is why I live here. It’s quiet, in a way it wasn’t when I still lived with other people. It hurt to be in everyone else’s vicinity.”

  “That’s… fascinating.”

  “If you say so,” you respond with a chuckle. “It has its perks, but I– Sometimes it makes me feel weak, too soft. Or abnormal, I don’t know.”

  “You’re not weak.” Something about his voice makes you look up, and see that Spring has now lifted his gaze to meet your eyes. In the darkness, his eyes reflect the stars. “You carry burdens greater than the world. No god does that, believe me. You’re so much stronger than you think.”

  Feeling the blush spread to your cheeks, you’re glad he cannot see it.

  “I– Thank you, Spring. You’re very kind.”

  “Only because you’ve made me so,” he says, heart pouring with gratitude.

  You squeeze his hand and let everything course through you.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! here be the second chapter :') i'm really enjoying writing this so far, and i hope you're all having a good time reading it! 
> 
> while i wrote this, i listened a lot to one of my favourite pieces of music ever - shinedown by kai engel, which is where this fic takes its name from. i think it perfectly encapsulates the atmosphere i want to bring into this story. so, i highly recommend y'all to listen to it, while reading this chapter or not. 
> 
> anyways, until next time! kudos & comments water my crops and bring me great joy :3


	3. remedies

  Something is… not quite right with Spring, that you can immediately tell.

  First, your mind goes to find an otherworldly explanation, something that’s not for your mortal mind to understand. It’d make the most sense: he just stands there, on your porch, with glassy eyes and mouth slightly ajar, staring off into something nobody else can see – obviously the first idea that pops into your head is something along the lines of a divine intervention, or something equally great and powerful. Mysterious, with a touch of something sacred.

  Until he closes his eyes, swallows and…  _ sneezes _ ? Then he returns to reality, focusing his gaze again, still muddy, but now present. He sniffles, rubs his eyes.

  “Good morning,” he says, but his voice is different. It’s hoarse, low in a way it hasn’t been before. Strained.

  “Good morning,” you repeat back, frowning. “Are you… alright?”

  “I– I don’t think so. It started last night.”

  “It?”

  “ _ This _ .” He gestures himself. “My head is pounding, I’m constantly shivering, I can’t breathe properly…”

_   Oh _ . Okay. So that’s how it is. He doesn’t even know.

  The great god of Spring doesn’t know what being sick is, has never had a common cold before. There’s something extremely amusing in it: he’s a grown man for all you know, and this is the first time he experiences the wonders of sickness.

  Gods are mighty different, you’re starting to notice that. And definitely not in the ways you first expected.

  “You’re  _ sick _ , Spring,” you say, and it feels like talking to a child that doesn’t know how to give words to their feelings yet, explaining something so common in simple terms. You have to fight back a smile that threatens to destroy your serious façade.

  “I am?”

  “You are. I’m certain. Come inside, I think you’re all set for your job today.”

  He hesitates, doesn’t move, and instead regards you with questioning eyes. You can’t blame him, exactly; he’s facing something he has never been familiar with before, and he has to take your word for it. He has his reasons to doubt you, but you need to make him learn you can be trusted, even in situations like this. Hell, if Winter trusts you enough to drink your tea, you know you can lure Spring in, too.

  “Please. You won’t get any better if you keep working,” you say, nearly plead. But you keep your voice insistent instead of desperate, winning him over by your confidence. “I know how to heal you, okay?”

  That seems to do the trick. He nods and with that silent permission, you open your door further.

  Even his cape has lost its energy; it hangs motionless, doesn’t flow magically behind him like it usually does. Spring slips inside, and never has he felt more like a man, less like a god. You meet his eyes as he passes you, uncertain in his movements, physical exhaustion emanating from his body. He seems to be in a worse condition than what he initially let on.

  Right there in the middle of your hallway Spring stands still, waiting. Before you can think, you reach out so that you lay the back of your hand on his cheek, then forehead. His eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything. His skin is soft where it isn’t marred by the scar, but...

  “You’re _ burning up _ , Spring.”

  “Feels cold to me,” he shrugs.

  You tug his cape, look up to him with eyes you hope to be stern; to keep your growing concern at bay, not let him see that.

  “Take this off. I’m drawing you a bath,” you say, and then head towards your bathroom to do just that.

  When the water starts running and gets hot enough, you return to the hallway and take the cape he’s taken off, hang it on the little hooks where you keep your poncho and scarf. The contrast between a midnight cape and brightly coloured poncho is rather endearing. You’d think about it more if you could.

  But you have more pressing matters at hand. You guide Spring to the bathroom, show him where’s what and how everything works. You decide to be throughout, not knowing how wide his knowledge is on these things. He’s clearly curious, though, even if it’s subdued right now. 

  “Can you handle it on your own now?”

  Maybe he actually can’t: he has a hard time standing up as it is, leaning against the bathroom’s door frame. Every little fragment of him focused on keeping him upright. 

  Or perhaps, there’s something else far more mortifying, another option he doesn’t want to choose. One you haven’t given thought to until now; only realise it after the words have left your mouth. So, you understand when he nods and closes the door behind him.

  While he warms up in the bath, you occupy yourself with making tea, a blend you use whenever you feel ill. Turmeric and ginger with some lemon and honey for sweetening the flavour. 

  Does medicine work on him? You realise that you have absolutely no idea as you go through your cabinet, in the hopes of finding something stronger that might help him. He is not a human, after all, and there’s a chance human medicine will do absolutely nothing – it might even make his condition worse. You’d be playing Russian roulette by giving him ibuprofen, so you just decide to bear this one out with your own, homemade remedies.

  You hear it before it even happens; the bathroom’s door opens. In a few steps you’re in the hallway, and see Spring retreat. He’s wearing the biggest sweater of yours you managed to find – a shade of bright orange and still a little bit too small on him – and drawers. Droplets of water hang on from the tips of his hair, rhythmically dripping onto the floor. His cheeks are flushed, eyes sleepy. 

  “You look like you could use a nap,” you say, and he doesn’t even try to fight back anymore, just nods once more. “The bedroom’s door is open at the end of the hallway. I’ll bring your some tea in there in a moment.”

  The floorboards creak as he walks, and soon you follow in his invisible footsteps. You find him sitting on the bed, looking up to you as you approach. He accepts your tea and while you go over to the window to close the curtains, he drinks greedily. Downs the whole cup in just a few gulps. 

  You take the cup from him, still warm under your palms. 

  “If you start to feel worse at any point, let me know right away, okay? I’ll be nearby, I promise.”

  “Alright.”

  He settles down and closes his eyes, breathes deeply – perhaps for the first time in a long while. 

  You turn away and begin to head out, leaving him to rest. However, you can’t resist turning around once by the door. In your bed lays Spring, just barely under your blankets; that’s how tall he is. But it is fitting, in a way that makes you chuckle amidst the silent concern and worry you’re harbouring for him. Underneath your floral-patterned blanket sleeps the god of new beginnings.

\--

  You don’t watch him sleep. No, even if you’re tempted to do so. You keep the door closed whenever you’re not checking up on him, giving him the privacy you’re certain he needs. But it doesn’t mean you won’t lean against the door once and listen for a moment – just in case anything was to happen. When you realise that you’re being foolish, that he can handle himself and would come to you if he needed your assistance, you slip away from the door. First embarrassed, but eventually you let the feeling pass, giving way to better things.

  There’s something heart-warming, something words can’t describe, in the thought that when he found himself in a new, unknown situation, it was  _ you _ who he sought out. It was you he went to find comfort, subconsciously or not. Granted, there are not many people around he could go to – no-one, besides you, actually – but it is touching nevertheless. You don’t try to deny the way you heart softens whenever you let your mind wander back to the thought, only smile and move along with your chores.

  It keeps you warm throughout the day and into the evening.

  You keep giving glances to your bedroom’s closed door, but don’t approach it just yet. Instead you keep your hands and your mind busy, doing chores in the cottage that you’ve been putting off for a while. But no matter how hard you try to be distracted, you’re drawn to him. Every little sound, anything that stands out from the usual silence, you become aware of with such ease; like searching for ripples in the still, mirror-clear water.

  When the afternoon stretches on enough, you check on him again with offerings nicely placed on a tray. A new cup of tea, another herbal blend that should help him regain his strength. Toast with the last bits of homemade orange jam and a small bowl of scrambled eggs, to give him the energy his body desperately needs.  

  He sits up against the headboard and you sit vigil by the side of the bed while he eats, making sure no crumb goes wasted. You don’t say much, only respond to his small comments here and there, but there’s no need for more words — not that he’d even have the energy to talk more. 

  You don’t find the silence frightening, no. In fact, there is comfort to be found in it, in the way you two can share a space without words. It feels different; it feels right, in a way.

  After he’s finished, he sets down his tea cup for the last time. First opens his mouth but then closes it, trying to decide what to say; what is too much, what isn’t. Can he reach out in a way he truly wants to?

  “Could you…” he finally starts, slowly, a sleep-ridden rumble, “stay here? For a while. It’s–“

  Oh, oh  _ dear _ Spring.

  He’s clearly scared, never been in a situation like this before. The feeling of discomfort overwhelms everything else, the shivers and aches bring him fear he’s never felt before; he needs something familiar, something real to ground himself into.

  “Of course. Of course I can stay.”

  Your heart is pounding so fast it’s all you can hear. He doesn’t smile or say anything, but you can feel him soften, exhale and inhale more peace into him. With a sigh, he lays down again and you turn off the light on your bedside table. 

  “I’m here, Spring. I’m right here.” You set your palm on top of his cold hand, squeeze gently. In answer he hums.

  You don’t let go, not even when he falls back asleep. You remain there on the bedside, even when his small, sharp snores begin. His steady breathing soothes your erratic heart, his presence brings you unparalleled peace. Darkness covers you both.

  You’re not afraid, no. If anything, you’ve only gathered more courage.

  You lean over Spring’s body, slowly as not to move your hand from top of his and wake him up. Patiently, with a gentleness drawn from the depths of your heart, you press your lips on his forehead. A quiet kiss of remedy.

  ”Sleep well, dear Spring,” you murmur. ”May the morning bring you vigour.”

  You reach out with your other hand to brush his hair, then let your fingers travel from his temple down to his cheek. He looks so peaceful when resting — lost in a place where nothing bad can find him. For tonight, he is free from his burdens.

  And so are you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. it's been a while, hasn't it? 
> 
> i'm sorry for disappearing; this summer was a rough one, and it showed through my writing. in the way that i didn't do it much. but i'm back on my feet, i'm writing again, and i am going to finish this story. even if it takes me a while. there's about 5 chapters more to this one, give or take. 
> 
> anyways, i really do hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. (being sick 4 times in the span of 2 months really inspires you to write about sickness, huh?) did it make you all soft inside when reading? please do tell me your thoughts and other feelings via kudos or comments, both of them make me very happy :')
> 
> until next time! (it won't take 4 months, i promise!)


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